


Part of the Orientation Package

by garden of succulents (staranise)



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Dubious Consent, First Time, Grindr, M/M, One Night Stands, Outdoor Sex, commentfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-29
Updated: 2016-04-29
Packaged: 2018-06-05 08:14:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6696964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/staranise/pseuds/garden%20of%20succulents
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eric can't believe that he just got propositioned on a hookup app on his <em>very first full day</em> at Samwell, but he's not questioning the good things that come his way.</p><p>(Or: The dangers of not looking like a hockey player.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Part of the Orientation Package

**Author's Note:**

> [Itsybittle on Tumblr](http://itsybittle.tumblr.com/post/134441796645) wrote, "Bitty having a one night stand before the first practice, sneaking out before Jack wakes up, and finding out the guy he slept with is the Captain of the Hockey team the next morning." and [I ran with it](http://des-zimbits.tumblr.com/post/143524657676/go-topshelf-on-chowder-itsybittle-bitty). (I think hooking up in a place where he's so easily recognized is a little OOC for Jack, but went with it for fic purposes)
> 
> For the record, no, I haven't seen Grey's Anatomy.
> 
> This work is dubcon: Bitty lies about what sport he plays, not knowing it will matter; Jack would not have had sex with him if he'd told the truth.

His first night alone in Samwell Eric flips through his phone from Pinterest to Facebook and then thinks, _oh, hey._   Massachusetts is new and exciting and different and weird, and it’s _Samwell_ , and there are probably _real live queer people in this very building._   It makes his heart clench a little, and he swipes back four screens in his phone to open up Grindr just to check.

He’s probably being really optimistic, actually; the semester doesn’t start for another week and a half.  But still.  In Madison there had been one guy using the app within 20 miles the one time Eric checked, and he already recognized him–a clerk at the supermarket who’d always made Eric feel distinctly uneasy.  Now in Samwell he watches his screen fill up with the innocent delight of comradeship– _they’re here! they’re here!  Hi there! I’m here too!_

To be honest he maybe cries a little because it’s so nice to feel less _alone._

And he’s on his way to find the dining hall, and dinner, and then the student kitchens, when his phone pings in his hand.

“Oh my word,” he says, looking at the lock screen.  Someone just _messaged him._   On _Grindr._   He finds himself dissolving into giggles and holding it tight to his chest because this is him, this is real, this is _really his life right now_ , this is what he’s allowed to try and do and be.  He walks into the dining hall holding his phone to his lips like a love letter, chooses his dinner options with a bubble of laughter in his chest, finds himself babbling nonsense at the woman who rings up his choices and swipes his student card.  By the time he sits down and gets his giggles under control enough to actually check, there are _two more messages._ They’re all from the same guy.

_Hi. :)_

_You might be able to see me? South end of dining hall_

_White shirt, blue cap_

He takes a minute to squint at the windows, the sun, figure out which way is south… his fingers are turning up pictures of a well muscled chest and a _well, goodness_  when he sees him, the lone figure with a tray at a long table with only two people on the other end, someone whose dick Eric _just saw_ , and he goes absolutely scarlet and drops his phone.

The guy laughs at him quietly, head ducking and shoulders shaking; there’s a flash of white teeth.  Eric looks down at his tray and suddenly sees the advantage of wearing a hat with a brim indoors if you’re going to try this kind of thing.  He tries for cool equanimity, opens and drinks his milk before picking it back up again.

 _Hi yourself_ , he sends.

 _Cheerleader, eh?_  is the reply.  Oh Lord, he really did add that picture to his account; it had been one day when he’d been sitting on the bleachers, waiting for his dad to finish practice and drive him home since he’d missed the bus, and the cheerleaders had enticed him into practicing high kicks and been delighted to dress him up in one of their unused men’s uniforms.  He’d have considered doing it more, but his father would have died of embarrassment.  It’s a fun picture, though.

_Alas! I didn’t make the varsity squad._

_I’m done here, want 2 meet somewhere?_

Eric bites his lip, going very pink.  He feels unbelievably self-conscious, not just because the guy is staring at him from across the dining hall. It feels like _everybody_  has to know what’s going on here, but nobody seems to look at him twice.

Very carefully, he types out, _OK._

The guy spends a minute on his phone, then gets up and walks out, tossing out his trash and putting his tray away as he does.  As he’s heading out the doors Eric gets a message.

_10 mins, left when you go out and left again at the red sculpture._

“This is my life now,” he whispers to himself, an incredulous smile hovering on his lips, and he types out again: _OK._

When he follows the directions he’s given he actually walks past the spot the guy’s standing, tucked behind a little corner of the building; he’s turned around by a short, sweet whistle, almost like a chirping bird.  The two backs of the building are together, blank faces without windows facing here; there’s a thread of worn footpath in the grass and further down there are loading docks, but here there are just trees and bushes and cigarette butts.  When he turns around Tall, Dark and Handsome is leaning against the wall, hands tucked in the pockets of his shorts, and he’s grinning. 

 _Oh, my,_  Eric thinks, trying not to melt   He raises his eyebrows instead.  “What now?  Do I need a code word? Am I dropping off a mysterious briefcase?”

The guy barks with laughter, throwing his head back.  Eric’s grinning too.  “I should have thought of that,” he says in a voice like nothing else Eric’s ever heard before, some foreign accent rolling his words together.  “Spy vs. Spy.  Here I thought I was going to say hello, my name is Jack, I’d like to blow you.”

Eric is instantly as red as a beet, he can _feel_  it.  “I,” he squeaks, and Jack is laughing at him again, which is unfair with a capital U, and for a minute he thinks he’s about to get hazed or something worse because the unreality is just incredible.

Then Jack throws himself down on the ground, still grinning, his back against the building.  “Come on, sit down,” he says.  “You look like you’re about to explode. Are you new?”

“Yeah,” Eric says weakly, sitting down beside Jack.  “Got in day before yesterday.  First year.”

“Okay good, welcome to Samwell,” Jack says, pounding him lightly on the back.  “You’re in early, what for?”

“Water polo,” Eric lies, because it sounds funnier.  “Pre-season conditioning.”

“Yeah?”  Jack looks him up and down in a way that’s practically lewd, and Eric would want to melt into the ground except for the little spark in Jack’s eyes that says he likes what he sees.  He strokes down Eric’s arm with the back of a beautiful and sturdy hand, admiring the definition between bicep and tricep.  

Eric flexes a little, showing off, and Jack laughs and flexes back.  Which is unfair, because Eric’s small and wiry and his flexing makes his muscles just stand out a bit, while Jack is built like a football player and when he flexes his muscles _swell_.  Eric makes a disgusted noise.  “You show-off.”

Jack smiles wickedly at him.  “You want me to stop?”

Eric kisses him just to show him what for, which makes Jack huff a laugh again that’s fucking _husky_ , oh Lord.  He leans in to the kiss, his hand running up and down Eric’s arm, enough exchange of lips to say that yes, he’s definitely interested; then he pulls back and gets to his feet, tugging Eric with him as he ducks further into the bushes.

The inside of the bushes is a hollow filled with soft dead leaves, and Jack sits against a tree trunk with his lap arranged very invitingly for Eric to sit on.  He straddles Jack’s lap and thinks again, _This is me, this is my life,_  while Jack is exploring the skin underneath Eric’s shirt.  Jack lends a hand when Eric takes it off, makes a deeply appreciative noise, and begins kissing Eric’s collarbone and shoulder.

It takes Eric a very short amount of time to learn that Jack will put his mouth on whatever part of Eric is in front of him, from shoulder to neck to ear to chest, which is giving him all kinds of ideas when they discover that the sides of his abdominals are ticklish and make him shiver with laughter, collapsing onto the ground at the base of the tree.  “Oh god, don’t–” Eric says, his face still screwed up in a rictus, “–don’t do that, I’m no good if you do that. Leave that part alone.”  He gestures with his hands from the sides of his ribcage in to his groin.

Jack watches, carefully and closely, and puts his hands over Eric’s, noticing the shiver in his sides, the way it goes down, the way his actual sides are fine, as is the column of Eric’s abs; his touch is sure and firm, not any more ticklish than it has to be to do the map.  “This is okay?” he asks, his hands sliding on either side of Eric’s belly button.

“Yeah,” Eric says, dizzy and cotton-mouthed.  Jack holds his gaze as he kisses just below Eric’s navel, then again an inch down, then just above the button to his shorts.  His eyes are on Eric with a steady, watchful gaze as he bends down and carefully kisses Eric’s dick through his shorts.  The tiny pressure through the fabric makes Eric gasp and arc a little, legs jerking.

“About what I was saying earlier,” Jack says, quiet and intent.  One hand is resting around Eric’s upper thigh.

“God, yeah,” Eric blurts out.  It makes Jack smile.

Jack, because this is Eric’s life now, _takes his shirt off._   Holy Moses, it’s a sight.  And with his shirt off he leans down to press the entirety of that spectacle of a torso to Eric’s to kiss him, insistently.  Then he pulls a condom out of his wallet, sticks it in his teeth, and crawls down Eric’s body like a commando rappelling down a wall.  Eric is absolutely mesmerized by the sight of Jack buttoning open his pants and freeing his dick from his underwear, rolling the condom down over him, and putting his mouth to it.

“Oh god,” he says, when Jack’s mouth makes contact.  Then he lifts his hand to his mouth and bites the heel of his thumb, because anything more than the little light kisses Jack’s putting to the head of his dick are going to totally swamp him.  He finds himself squirming backwards to put his back to the slight rise at the base of the tree, to give himself a kind of leverage or purchase, which he does achieve at the small cost of a tree root in the kidney.  Jack waits for him to stop adjusting, looks for him to nod shakily, and then goes back to it.

Jack holds his dick with one hand, presumably for better ease of fellating the hell out of the head, and has broken Eric down to naming Old Testament prophets the first time he takes his hand away and settles his elbows on either side of Eric’s hips.  His mouth slides down, sucking with the back of his mouth instead of the front, and his hands appear at the small of Eric’s back to encourage him to move.

He makes a truly dirty sound when he realizes what Jack wants him to do, flexing his hips to push his dick further into Jack’s mouth.  Jack takes, from his position over Eric, his arms flexed, exactly as much as he _wants_  to take, easily rising back if it’s too much; but what he _wants_  to take, well, that’s the interesting question, isn’t it?

 _I do not deserve the life I have now_ , Eric thinks, riding the sweet wave of a motion where he lowers his hips at the exact time Jack pulls back a little, so they both come together for the next thrust from the furthest opposite points.  Jack’s head is down, his eyes closed, lashes black against his cheekbones, cheeks hollowed with the effort, and he follows Eric perfectly, absolutely dedicated to giving head.

As Eric gets closer and closer to coming, Jack’s hands take on more of the effort, lifting Eric’s hips up while his mouth bears down, while Eric’s writhing gets absolutely hopeless and the sounds that stutter explosively out of his lips are incoherent and ragged.He seizes up with a moan for his orgasm and Jack moves with him, holding him at the top of his arc; then, as Eric exhales, he slowly lets his hips come back to the ground.

Shakily, Eric watches through his lashes as Jack draws his head away, pulling off the condom with an experienced move that takes most of the mess with it and tying it off.  With the smaller fingers of his left hand he takes a little travel pack of tissues out of his back pocket and wriggles one free, wiping his hands with an apologetic smile; then he pulls out another one and tosses it onto Eric’s chest.

“Well,” Eric says with feeling.  “Welcome to Samwell.”

Jack grins again, kneeling back.  “Yeah, just about.”  When Eric sits up and starts using the tissue to clean up what’s left, Jack puts his wallet back in his pockets and pulls his shirt back on, extracting a tissue to grab the condom with.

“Wait, are you–” Eric says, feeling a little disappointed that Jack’s not hanging around, that he won’t get a chance to return the favour.  Jack squats down next to him.

“I’ve got work to do,” he says, splaying the fingers of his free hand on Eric’s pectoral, and kisses Eric quickly.  Then he smiles, kisses Eric’s forehead.  “I’ll see you around, Water Polo.”

“Yeah,” Eric says weakly as Jack stands up.  He watches as Jack shoots one last cheeky look over his shoulder as he ducks out the bushes.   _Wait, are you_ , he thinks of saying, too late to shout after him.   _What about you, what’s your–_

Then he blows a breath out and throws himself flat on his back again, staring up at the little patch of darkening sky.

“Oh boy,” he says, and lays there for a while.  Eventually, though, he gets up and puts his shirt on, and goes inside to make a pie.

***

The next morning his team captain doesn’t say anything through an hour of introductions and warm-up drills.  Eric’s absolutely winded and sucking down Gatorade when Jack finally skates up next to him at the boards.

“Water polo?” he asks darkly, his eyes like ice.

“No,” Eric says, praying for the ice to swallow him up.  “Sorry.”

Jack doesn’t say anything but he _glares_ , then just skates away again, and Eric shakes his head to send the sweat out of his eyes.  “Oh boy,” he says again.  “Welcome to Samwell.”


End file.
